


La Luna

by Heartbreak



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heartbreak/pseuds/Heartbreak
Summary: “There was a time, when he was my whole world. There was a time, when I couldn't remember how to breath without him. There was a time, when I thought that I would be fading if he was not with me.This time is long gone... "OneShot after Reichenbach Falls





	La Luna

“There was a time, when he was my whole world. There was a time, when I couldn't remember how to breath without him. There was a time, when I thought that I would be fading if he was not with me. 

This time is long gone... 

I have moved on, I have found a way back to my life. A way how I can finally be me again, finally be the person, I was, before I met him and he pushed me in his absurd life that can't be healthy for anyone... Finally I am living a life full of contentment and safety. It is funny what not being shot at can do to you... It is really funny...” 

He looked at this words down on the paper and sighed. He knew that he was lying. With every single little word. He was lying and he couldn't stop it. His therapist told him to write a diary. Something where he could bring down his thoughts, so that they would leave him and not jumble around his brain every minute, every second. So he started writing... And every word, every sentence and every entry felt like he was building this whole, fake world around him. He knew that he was not honest. But when had been being honest an advantage? 

He closed his little book of lies and let it slip into his drawer. He got up and walked over to the window. He was not longer at Baker Street. He just couldn't be there. He felt awful for Mrs Hudson, he loved this old lady with all his heart, but it was just too much. Very corner, every centimetre of this flat was just full of him. There was a memory everywhere. When he found the head in the fridge. When he was sitting on the couch listening to him playing the violin. When they came back from a night running around London trying to catch the bad guys. 

He could still see everything in front of his eyes. He could almost touch it, smell it, feel it. It was still too raw, too present. But knowing Sherlock Holmes, he was sure that this would never go away. He knew that the impression the other man made on him would never fade. Not for one second. 

How was he suppose to continue with his life? How was he suppose to behave as if he never tasted the intoxicating mixture of excitement and danger? How was he suppose to go back from this? 

He looked down on the high street in front of him. People were rushing back and forth and following their day's work. Everything seemed to be so ordinary. How they were running around, what they were wearing. Oh, how much would he have given to see just once more the tall, slim figure of him, with his rushing coat around him, marching down the pavement, behaving like he was the king of this city. Oh, how much would he have given for this? 

Just one more time, he thought. Just to see him once more. Just to tell him... just to... He shook his head and closed his eyes. No, we are not going there, John. Not again, never again. 

He marched over to the door, grabbed his jacket and left his little studio flat. This always happened when he had too much time on his hands. This always happened when he allowed himself to just stop and think.. remember... 

He would go to the hospital and offer to help out. He was always working these days. He offered to do the night shift and he loved his work at the A&E department. It was the closest he could get to the rush that had made him so addicted. At least he still had sometimes someone's life in his hand. Sometimes he felt guilty for thinking these thoughts, but then he would think of Sherlock again: “ Would caring about them help safe them?” A short, bitter smile and he would be again in life saver mode. Yes, Sherlock might have finally rubbed off on the good doctor. 

A long shift in the hospital got finally to an end and John sat down in the staff room to just grab a quick coffee before making his way home. He disliked coffee these days as it would just keep him up and would therefore prevent him to slip into the only time he was without him: his sleep. It was almost funny as he had these awful night terrors once he came back from Afghanistan. Most people would have said that this was a natural reaction to all the trauma he had witnessed there. But funnily enough it was nothing compared to the trauma of witnessing the man, that he... witnessing Sherlock jumping of this sodding roof and burst on the ground right in front of him. 

He always assumed that he would have trouble sleeping and that the nightmares would return, but they didn't. Yes, he had to bring himself to absolute physically exhaustion to be able to finally sleep. But once he reached this point he could sleep like a baby and would be finally free from all these thoughts, memories, dreams... 

He made his way home and slowly opened the door. A little part of him was still in the old detective mode where you never knew who was waiting at the other side of the door. He took a glance around the shabby room and was not surprised to notice... nothing.. nothing at all. He walked over to his bed and dropped bag and jacket on the way. He let himself fall onto the bed and his head had hardly reached the pillow before he was sound asleep. 

But this night was different. This night he dreamt. About him, of course. About him returning. It was a happy dream, he was not angry, he was not upset. He was just happy to have him finally back. He looked so real in front of his eyes. He almost felt his hot breath on his face and the warmth of his skin. 

“You are back...” His voice was still full of sleep. 

“Of course I am back.” The dark voice laughed this incredible laugh that just he could. 

“What did you expect? I will never leave you.” A warm hand gently caressed his cheek. 

“Promise?” John closed his eyes and leaned further into the touch. Sherlock smiled. 

“I promise!”

He woke up and sat upright in his bed. No, he couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. He was not dead. Not Sherlock Holmes. No, he couldn't be dead. He would have never left him, he would have never left him in this ordinary, boring life with nothing else to do then working himself into an early grave. He almost started laughing. Early grave. Sherlock almost had been his early grave, with his moods and his ability to bring them into the most dangerous situations. But no, Sherlock would have never left him like this. He was so sure. He didn't know where this suddenly came from, but it was almost as if the man himself had given him the hint. 

He was not dead. And it was down to John to find him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, 
> 
> Another first for me, but I have been in love with this fandom for forever... So I had to write a tiny little something about these two. 
> 
> Hope, you like it.


End file.
